General Relativity (171-172/?)
anonymous
January 1 2011, 17:34:51 UTC
CSLXXXI. Light Produced in an Analogous Manner Terrestrially (i.e., by the Same Kind of Molecule)
It was Sunday night too soon.
“We deny it.”
“We deny it,” repeated Alfred, bright eyes stark against the ashen gray of his cheeks. He hadn’t regained color yet; he hadn’t smiled, either. It was more than a little frightening to Matthew, who was used to his irrepressible positivity. The fear thinned him through and through until he was little more than rice paper.
Matthew rubbed his hands, trying to be reassuring. “Yong Soo saw us kissing, sort of. But everything else is supposition. We deny it.”
“Okay.”
“You need to call the Dean. You need to tell him what Yong Soo thought he saw and relay your concerns. If you broach him with it first, it sounds better. Tell him that we’re close, but only as friends, and that’s an easy thing to mistake at times. We weren’t doing anything wrong. I was out staying with a friend and when I came back to campus, I heard the rumor, gave you a call, and let you know what was going on.”
Alfred blinked at him: once, languid and slow. “Okay.”
We are absolutely in trouble, Matthew almost told him. No matter what we say, we are absolutely in trouble and if I lose you because of this, if I lose you because we were stupid just once, I’m never going to forgive myself. I have completely and utterly failed you. I’ve failed you. I told you we could keep this secret.
He said nothing else. Except, winding Alfred’s fingers into his own, “I may or may not come to class this week. But I’ll be in touch, all the time.”
Alfred gathered his hands and kissed them, breath damp and sad against his knuckles. He mouthed something against them, but Matthew couldn’t discern it. He thought maybe he didn’t have to.
CSLXXXII. A Second Fundamental Difficulty Attending Classical Celestial Mechanics
I will be brave, Matthew told himself.
It was peculiar to be in the real world again. He stood in front of the dorm hall under the stars, staring up at the patchwork of windows lit here and there, flickers of normalcy arranged in plant-box rows. He thought about how many people he might see before he got to his room. He thought about whether it was like sticking your hand in an icy pool: the first dip was the most painful and each after, less so. He thought, too, that it was always going to hurt.
“I will be brave,” he whispered.
(It was, in the end, not bravery that moved Matthew to take that next step into the building. Rather, it was the memory of the desperate kiss Alfred laid to rest against the corner of his mouth before he’d gone-a hidden kiss, a favor to take into battle, a thoughtless gesture that Matthew plied meaning on for strength.)
It was Sunday night too soon.
“We deny it.”
“We deny it,” repeated Alfred, bright eyes stark against the ashen gray of his cheeks. He hadn’t regained color yet; he hadn’t smiled, either. It was more than a little frightening to Matthew, who was used to his irrepressible positivity. The fear thinned him through and through until he was little more than rice paper.
Matthew rubbed his hands, trying to be reassuring. “Yong Soo saw us kissing, sort of. But everything else is supposition. We deny it.”
“Okay.”
“You need to call the Dean. You need to tell him what Yong Soo thought he saw and relay your concerns. If you broach him with it first, it sounds better. Tell him that we’re close, but only as friends, and that’s an easy thing to mistake at times. We weren’t doing anything wrong. I was out staying with a friend and when I came back to campus, I heard the rumor, gave you a call, and let you know what was going on.”
Alfred blinked at him: once, languid and slow. “Okay.”
We are absolutely in trouble, Matthew almost told him. No matter what we say, we are absolutely in trouble and if I lose you because of this, if I lose you because we were stupid just once, I’m never going to forgive myself. I have completely and utterly failed you. I’ve failed you. I told you we could keep this secret.
He said nothing else. Except, winding Alfred’s fingers into his own, “I may or may not come to class this week. But I’ll be in touch, all the time.”
Alfred gathered his hands and kissed them, breath damp and sad against his knuckles. He mouthed something against them, but Matthew couldn’t discern it. He thought maybe he didn’t have to.
CSLXXXII. A Second Fundamental Difficulty Attending Classical Celestial Mechanics
I will be brave, Matthew told himself.
It was peculiar to be in the real world again. He stood in front of the dorm hall under the stars, staring up at the patchwork of windows lit here and there, flickers of normalcy arranged in plant-box rows. He thought about how many people he might see before he got to his room. He thought about whether it was like sticking your hand in an icy pool: the first dip was the most painful and each after, less so. He thought, too, that it was always going to hurt.
“I will be brave,” he whispered.
(It was, in the end, not bravery that moved Matthew to take that next step into the building. Rather, it was the memory of the desperate kiss Alfred laid to rest against the corner of his mouth before he’d gone-a hidden kiss, a favor to take into battle, a thoughtless gesture that Matthew plied meaning on for strength.)
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